


A Movie Night

by a_nonny_moose



Series: 100 Quote Prompts [12]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Wilford and Bim stretch their powers a bit. A normal day.





	A Movie Night

“This is all the money I have.” 

“Well–”

“Mark does not give us an allowance, Warfstache,” Oliver glared at Wilford. 

Snapping closed his butterfly knife, Wilford dropped his eyes from Oliver’s, almost guilty. 

“If you insist on purchasing pizza,” Google_R said, across the room, “I suggest you extort those who are capable of consuming it.” His voice, though robotic, was biting, scathing. 

Wilford winced a little. running a hand though his hair. He shot one last, poisonous look at Oliver’s outstretched hand, holding a crumpled five-dollar bill. 

“Fine,” he finally snapped, looking around the room at the other Googles, all bent over their latest project, stiff, obviously listening instead of working. “I’ll go bother someone who actually cares about my well-being.” The words were meant to match Google_R’s tone and cruelty, but came out bitter. Wilford turned on his heel to leave, acutely aware of the Googles turning to watch him go.

Once out in the hallway, the Googles’ door clicking shut behind him, Wilford huffed and pulled out his butterfly knife. He flipped it over his hand, then across, then open. 

Click-click clack.

He threatened an imaginary enemy, frowning. Who else in the building would be on board with ordering pizza to the office? He flipped the knife again, across his hand, over his fingers, then closed.

Click-click clack.

“That’s eventually going to give you carpal tunnel, Wilford.”

Wilford, startled out of his reverie, turned to face Dr. Iplier, walking down the corridor with an amused smile.

“Doc, you’ve told me this a hundred times.”

“And yet you never stop.”

“Well…” Wilford trailed off, looking at the pink, folded blade in his palm. With a scoff, he stowed it in a pocket. 

“What’re you doing out here, anyway?” Dr. Iplier eyed the Googles’ closed door, then Wilford’s tense form, with suspicion.

Wilford, never one to conceal his emotions, had outright worn his heart on his sleeve ever since he’d learned to control his powers. With an audible ding and a puff of pink smoke, a light bulb appeared over his head. 

Crack.

Before the Doctor could react, the suspended light bulb fell out of the air, shattering on Wilford’s skull. Wilford shook the glass out of his hair, frowning a little, but eyes still alight with inspiration. Dr. Iplier hesitated.

“Uh, Will?”

“Say, Doc,” Wilford said, raking the last remnants of the light bulb’s wires out of his hair, wiggling his mustache. “Whaddya think about a movie night?”

“Er–” Dr. Iplier tensed as Wilford threw an arm around his shoulders, starting for the main office. Wilford whipped out his butterfly knife as they walked, and the Doctor tensed. 

Click-click clack.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Wilford pulled the Doctor along, forceful, and Dr. Iplier could already feel his resolve weakening in the face of Wilford’s bubblegum-scented smile.

Click-click clack.

“I r-really don’t think–”

“Now, Doc,” Wilford scolded gently, waving the folded knife at him, “it’ll be fun, y’know! Isn’t that just what you prescribed, a bit of stress relief?”

“S-Stress relief, yes, Will, but I don’ believe that what you’re proposing is exactly a movie night.”

Click-click clack.

Dr. Iplier looked, wide-eyed, from the blade to Wilford, who was gazing at him with a disarmingly sweet smile.

“Of course it’s a movie night, just some pizza and some friends.” Wilford smiled wider, and the Doctor could feel a stab of panic go through him. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t the glass still stuck in Wilford’s hair–

With a chuckle, Wilford leaned in. “Isn’t that just what you wanted?” His eyes glowed for a brief second, a vivid magenta, and Dr. Iplier blinked. 

“Uh, of course, Will,” he found himself saying, almost automatically. 

“That’s great, Doc,” Wilford said, backing away.

Click-click clack.

The knife away, Wilford grinned widely. “Now, we need money for pizza. I wouldn’t suppose…”

“Here.” Dr. Iplier produced a few bills from his wallet, holding them out to Wilford, his eyes glazed over. 

“Wow, thanks!” Wilford exaggerated a bow before snatching the money from the Doctor’s limp hand. “If you want to participate, I’d invite you, but you’re busy with patients today, aren’t you, Doc?”

“Yes.” Like one of the Googles, Dr. Iplier fluttered his eyelids, then walked away. Wilford stared after him with satisfaction until the door to his room closed, a click resounding down the hallway. 

Wilford turned to go into the kitchen, counting bills.

“Impressive, Warfstache.”

Wilford jumped. “Ah, Dark!” He recovered quickly, bounding up to Dark, who recoiled with a sneer.

“One would almost wonder,” Dark said, smoothing his suit, “who’s side you’re on.”

Wilford looked at him, polite confusion quickly morphing into a sneer to match Dark’s. “Sorry, Darky, I don’t recall being on a side.”

Click-click clack.

Dark looked down the handle of the blade, unimpressed. “Always so messy, Will,” he sighed, pushing it away with a disdainful finger. “You have to understand, I’m on your side. I can give you anything.”

With a swirl of black smoke, Dark was gone, leaving Wilford jabbing his knife at the air in rage.

“Wilford?” Bim poked his head out of the living room. “Is Operation: Pizza a go?” Seeing Wilford’s face, Bim stepped towards him in concern. “Did… something happen?”

“Dark ruins all my fun,” Wilford muttered, closing his knife with a single click. 

“Hm?” Bim was next to him now, following his line of sight to the folded knife clenched in his hand. “Will?” 

Wilford blinked at Bim’s nudge. “I-I’m fine.”

“Pizza?” Bim gently reminded him, hopeful.

Wilford’s eyes lit up, and he turned to Bim with a grin. “Pizza!” He held up the wad of cash that Dr. Iplier had ‘given’ him, wiggling his eyebrows in excitement.

Bim returned the smile, pulling the two of them into the living room. “I’ll make the call, if you’d like,” he offered, holding up his phone. “Do you know what kind of pizza you want?”

“Anything but pineapple.”

“Pineapple, you say?” Bim giggled, running out of the room, as Wilford mockingly swiped the folded knife at him. 

An hour later found Bim and Wilford in front of the big TV, spread out on beanbags, midway through a pizza, discussing video ideas over the sound of a pirated version of La La Land playing in the background. They were both performers, after all, and while Wilford often looked down on Bim, they got along quite well. 

“So I stabbed him, and I stabbed him, and I stabbed him; and he was laughing and I was laughing–”

“And then he died?”

“Yeah, he died!”

The Host followed the sound of howling laughter down the hallway, pausing to hear the Googles grumbling in their room over the amount of noise coming from the living room. 

“The Host would like to remind Bim and Wilford that there are other occupants in the building, and that they–”

“Host!” Bim jumped up to grab his hand, guiding him to sit on on of the beanbags. “You have to listen to this, Will had the best interview yesterday!”

The Host shifted, a little uncomfortably. “The Host came to ask that Wilford and Bim–”

Wilford had already launched into his story, leaving the Host to trail off into silence. 

“…and then, they died!”

Bim burst into laughter, and the Host mustered a chuckle. “The Host wonders if Dr. Iplier knows about this?”

Bim caught his breath long enough to ask, “about what? The interview?”

“About Wilford’s pizza, and this…er, lovely movie night that Bim and Wilford seem to have embarked on.”

Wilford met Bim’s eye, suddenly looking panicked and guilty.

“The Host, though he cannot see, can tell that Wilford is looking at Bim in distress.” The Host stood to leave, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket. “He is going to go check on the Doctor.”

In a flash, Bim had grabbed the Host’s hand in two of his, stopping him from leaving. The Host frowned down at him, but Bim stopped him before he could say anything.

“Host,” Bim said silkily, leaning forward, “ wouldn’t you like to stay and listen to the movie with us?” 

Wilford watched in astonishment as the Host, hand still clasped in Bim’s, slowly sat back down, blushing faintly. Wilford, even though he wasn’t the focus of Bim’s attention, felt the urge to move closer to him, take his hand. Suddenly, he wanted to be the focus of Bim’s attention. Wilford tore his eyes from Bim and the Host’s hands, intertwined, nursing a burst of jealousy. He reached for his knife…

Click-click cl–

“YOU TWO.” Dr. Iplier burst into the room, head mirror askew. The Host jumped, tearing his hand from Bim’s, leaping to his feet. 

Bim’s concentration was broken, and he frowned at the Doctor as Wilford shook his head clear of the thought of leaning into Bim, hands against his jaw–

“Wilford.” Dr. Iplier was shaking in rage. “How dare you hypnotize me like that, I thought that was below–” He cut himself off, finally registering the Host’s flushed, angry face. Wilford could practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“Bim, you too?” The fight going out of him, the Doctor sagged, raising a hand to rub at his temples. The Host, gathering himself, muttered something about pizza before stalking out of the room. 

Bim looked from Dr. Iplier, fingers still curled into fists, to Wilford, staring at him, pupils dilated, knife half drawn. A giggle started deep in his chest, working its way up his throat. 

“Is that pizza?!” the Doctor said, over the sound of Bim’s stifled giggles.

Wilford tore his eyes away from Bim to see the Doctor, red-faced, and gave him an innocent grin.

“Wilford, what the fuck?”

Bim burst into full-bellied laughter, falling back to lay on the beanbag. Wilford’s mustache twitched, and in an instant, he lay next to Bim, laughing just as loudly.

Dr. Iplier felt at his hip to make sure his wallet was still in his pocket before walking out of the room, shaking his head.


End file.
